


blood running hot, night chills

by scrapbullet



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Feels, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: “Your thoughts are loud.” Thomas drags his lips over the shell of James’ ear, sleep-soft and utterly free in his declaration of self. His hands, smooth and unmarked, slip under the worn cotton shirt to palm James’ chest, rubbing back and forth over the swell of his heart. “You need your rest, darling.”





	

He cannot see the stars. 

It is disconcerting to not have their presence, though at times their steady gaze leaves him to believe that they, in their detached and remote wisdom, are privy to each and every secret within his breast. Regardless, their lack is worrisome, as their dependable companionship might well serve to settle his anxieties on a night when James is struggling with the realisation of his reality.

The warmth of the bed - of Thomas and Miranda’s bed - is an alluring prospect, as is the notion of curling beside them both. They, Lord and Lady both, are peaceful in repose where James is not, and thus it is no surprise that his heart clenches in his chest as if in the grip of a vice. He wants it. He wants it so badly that his hands tremble from the force of it, and, from his seat by the window as far away from his desire as he can possibly be, James bites his lip and grips the window ledge so tight that his knuckles turn white.

Was giving in truly the best course of action? 

That is the question that plagues him. For many years he has allowed himself only the most fleeting of dreams - of broad hands coarse and rough from hard work and hard living ghosting his body, igniting it, followed always by the blissful invasion of his body and soul - and nothing more. In truth he is as terrified now as he has always been, except now the dream has taken the shape of a man who is too good for this world.

A man who is too good for James.

The bed creaks, and someone sighs. Sheets sliding against bare skin is a gentle hush in the dark, and Thomas encases James in an embrace that is warm and inviting and _damning._

“Your thoughts are loud.” Thomas drags his lips over the shell of James’ ear, sleep-soft and utterly free in his declaration of self. His hands, smooth and unmarked, slip under the worn cotton shirt to palm James’ chest, rubbing back and forth over the swell of his heart. “You need your rest, darling.”

The sound that forces itself from his throat is one of sheer emotion; a choked sob loud enough for Miranda to murmur softly in her slumber, stirring, before subsiding into the pillows with a sigh. Thomas, silent and still for but a moment, heaves a heavy breath, concerned. “This plagues you.”

“No, no,” James laughs despairingly, _sotto voce_ , turning and clasping Thomas to him as if he is the only anchor in the storm. “It is my shame, and mine alone - you, oh _you_ , Thomas... if only I could be as free as you.”

Thomas kisses him, and his lips are divine. “You could be,” he murmurs, only to lick his way into James’ mouth, intent, drawing the very air from his lungs. “You could be. My darling James, you could be, if only you let go of your fears.”

“I’m not as optimistic as you, either,” James muses, arching his neck for Thomas to continue, sucking hot and wet where the blood thrums quick and desperate. “ _God_ , Thomas, how I lo-” His words catch, unbidden, and how can this be anything other than perfection? Not simple lust, no, but love that burns so bright it threatens to turn James to ash. 

Thomas hums a wordless purr, pleased, his clever fingers plucking James’ nipples with all the ease of a musician. “And I, you. _James, my love_ -”

Indeed, Thomas is too good for James, but he has him nonetheless. Oh, he has him, and for a brief moment James can imagine that all is right and true and their love has room to flourish.

“I should have known you two would keep me awake,” Miranda interjects, chuckling under her breath as James flinches in surprise. Her light step has scuppered him on many an occasion, after all, so it comes as no surprise that she has left the comfort of their bed to press her naked body along the length of his back.

Her hands are deft as they aid her husband in removing what little clothing James has taken as armour, pausing to pinch the taut muscle of his buttocks with a saucy grin. “Not that I have any complaints, of course.”

Thomas slips his thigh between James’ legs. James, lips parted and with words on the tip of his tongue, moans, unabashed. 

Gracing Thomas with a kiss Miranda is enigmatic, guiding those that wish to be led. “My loves; come back to bed, where I can watch you both, in comfort.”

What answer is there, but yes?


End file.
